Don't Turn the Lights Out on Us
by Nahaliel
Summary: 3 am, a flashback and one very sick Grimm. Who knew Juliette getting her memory back was such a simple recipe? Nick whump, angst.
1. Chapter 1

_**This is my first try at a Grimm fic. A/N Spoilers for season 2; brief reference to Game Ogre. AU based on promo for 2x06. This may be really random; sorry if it doesn't make sense at times. I have found a Whumpers Anonymous group. Angsty sick fic ahead... Happy reading.**_

* * *

"I actually said that? Wow."

Juliette's laughter fills the room. It's a wonderful sound. And it's something he hasn't heard in a while.

Juliette had been true to her word and was home in time for dinner. They sit at the dining room table; to Nick, the familiar surroundings look so different, tinged with the melancholy that's been lingering since Juliette came home from the hospital. To Juliette, it's all new. He pushes down the painful, hollow sadness threatening to build up in his chest and smiles back at her. He can do this.

"This is really nice, Nick," she says, and his heartbeat picks up. This blind hopefulness is really getting the better of him.

"Yeah, it is," he smiles fondly at her and finishes his glass of wine.

Dinner really is nice. They continue their light conversation as they clear the table and wash the dishes. It's almost normal; like before it all happened. When they're through, Juliette finishes drying her hands on a dish towel and smiles up at him.

"I had a nice evening," it sounds genuine and Nick aches to hold her close again. "I'm going to head to bed. See you tomorrow?"

"Me too," Nick says quietly. "Sleep well."

He watches her climb the stairs. From the kitchen, he sees just her feet; they stop at the top and she lingers there, as if unsure. Then he hears a soft sigh, and their bedroom door clicks shut.

They will get through this.

* * *

It's still dark out when he wakes. It's only 3 am in fact. And something's wrong. He pulls himself upright, gripping the sheets with white knuckled fists at the painful sensation of vertigo that washes over him. He coughs; it echoes through the house, a deep and wet sound. Great. Now is not the time to be sick.

Nick stands on shaking legs and stumbles through the living room to the bathroom. The seven strides it takes to cross that distance leave him breathless and trembling. It's too warm; his head feels thick and pounds sickeningly. He curses, fumbling in the dark, not wanting to make noise, not wanting to wake Juliette. _Juliette_. An unexpected moan escapes his lips.

She's so close, so tangible and yet so _transparent, _a mere shadow of what they used to be. He struggles to form a coherent thought through the fog in his fever muddled brain. The old Juliette, _his_ Juliette always left a note on the kitchen table for him when she stepped out, carefully written in that beautiful cursive of hers, complete with an I love you at the end of the page. The emptiness in his chest crushes his lungs again. He misses her, needs her. And it hurts.

He's jolted back to reality by his knees connecting with the tiles of the bathroom floor. The ground is cold and unforgiving. A painful tremor racks his entire frame and he leans forward until his forehead touches the cool tiles. He thinks he'll stay like this, just for a little while.

* * *

"Nick? Nick, what's wrong?"

Somehow he's on his back, staring up at Juliette's worried face. Wispy tendrils of hair frame her face, her white robe slips off one shoulder, revealing her fair skin. God, she's beautiful.

"Juliette?" he croaks. _I love you so much._

_Who are you?_

He nearly gasps at the pain the memory causes. He can't focus; even her face isn't enough to help him hang on to reality. He's slipping under again.

"Nick!" She grips his shoulders with a strength he'd never known she possessed. "Tell me what's wrong."

He sucks in a breath. It's like ice filling his lungs and he coughs again. She pulls him up gently until his head rests against her shoulder.

"Shhh," she soothes quietly, "Breathe, Nick."

The coughing tapers off and he chokes a little, drawing in cautious sips of air. He's too hot; his shirt is clinging uncomfortably to his back. He doesn't want to move; he's in her arms again and her lips are pressed to the top of his head.

"Juliette…" her name leaves his lips in pained whisper. _Please come back. Remember_.

All of a sudden, she stills against him. The tension radiating off of her is so strong he can _feel_ it. He wants to look up at her, see what's wrong but his head rolls limply against her shoulder.

"Nick?" her voice is high and there's an edge of panic to it.

He draws in a steadying breath and pulls himself up to sit without her support. It's agonizing. He sways, swallowing convulsively.

"Nick? What happened? You're hurt. I came home…The window was smashed—," She draws in a sharp breath and Nick feels the blood drain from his head.

She's having a flashback.

"Oh god… You're hurt badly, Nick…The blood…" Juliette's eyes are wide, and she's staring straight ahead at nothing in particular, red hair obscuring one side of her face.

"It's okay…" Nick's voice shakes. He drags a heavy hand up to her face to calm her. Is she remembering? Is this it? His grasp on the here and now is loosening; the edges of his vision gray out.

All of a sudden, her eyes snap back to him, focused and… His Juliette is there behind those brilliant, bright eyes.

"Oh my god, Nick!" She cups the sides of his face with both her hands, eyes glistening with tears. "I remember! I remember you!" She's laughing and crying at the same time as she leans forward and places a deep kiss on his overheated lips.

She draws away, smoothing back the damp hair that's plastered to Nick's burning forehead.

"Let's get you back to bed, okay?" she says, smiling sadly at him. "Our bed."

Nick slumps a bit, losing the battle against his fading consciousness.

"Can't…" he mumbles. _Call Monroe_, he wants to say because Juliette is back, and it's all too much and he knows there's something wrong with him, he just can't remember what-

Instead, he crumples forward and goes limp in her arms.

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**_The second and last chapter is finally up. Things have been crazy this week, and all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and write, but sadly that wasn't an option. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, followed and favorited; it means a lot that you gave this story a chance. Let me know what you think of this installment. Happy reading._**

* * *

Monroe's phone rings at exactly 3:28 am. And he's not happy about it. It buzzes loudly on his nightstand, jerking across the wooden surface. He flings out a hand and grasps it, bringing it to his ear.

"M'ello?" he mumbles. It sounds more like a growl.

"M-monroe?" A shaky, female voice speaks on the other end of the line. Suddenly, he's wide awake, because there could be no good reason the Grimm's amnesic girlfriend is calling him at 3 am.

"Yeah?" He sits up, flicking on his bedside lamp. His heart beats faster, pounding against his rib cage.

"It's Nick… He's—There's something wrong. I remember, Monroe. I remember! You need to come; I don't know what's happening."

Juliette's really not making sense but Monroe is already out the door, hopping on one leg to pull a boot on by the time she's finished talking. The fear in her voice is painfully loud in his ears.

"He's not waking up. Please hurry."

* * *

Monroe takes the steps three at a time, and enters the house. It's dark and eerily quiet. The silence is loud, deafening in his ears as he scans the shadowed living room. Then he smells it. The strong, sour sent of sickness. This time accompanied by a sharp, bitter tang that's unmistakably Wesen. And poisonous. He wrinkles his nose at it and crosses the distance to the downstairs bathroom in four strides.

The sight he is met with is one he never wants to see again.

Juliette is on her knees on the tiled bathroom floor, cradling Nick close to her chest. Tears stream down her face, and her thin shoulders shudder as she sobs; in her arms, Nick is trembling so violently she can barely keep a hold on him.

"Monroe!" she gasps; it's a desperate and pained sound. "_Help him_."

Nick's face is pasty and white, his dark hair damp with sweat. His chest heaves as he shakes and his hands are so, so cold. Monroe kneels down in front of Juliette and gently lifts Nick from her grasp, resting him back on the floor. She slides a towel under his head.

Monroe looks up at the Grimm's girlfriend and feels an unfamiliar pang of sadness for her. He's never seen Juliette so shaken up. Remembering must have hit her like a freight train, realizing how close she came to giving up on Nick and her and now, he's slipping away from her again. She holds a shaking hand to her mouth, worrying her bottom lip.

"Juliette?" Monroe grunts internally. This is uncomfortable. "Juliette, look at me."

She complies, her wide eyes meeting his.

"I need you to get some things for me from the kitchen, okay? Do you have any peppermint tea?"

She looks blank for a second.

"Uh, y-yes. Okay," she finally stammers. She pulls herself to her feet and disappears into the other room.

* * *

Left alone, Monroe peers down at Nick.

"Stupid Grimm," he mutters to his unconscious form, "What have you got yourself into this time?"

Just then, Nick stirs. He lifts a hand off the ground, but the strength to complete the movement deserts him halfway through, and the hand falls limply against something soft—against _Monroe's thigh, _scaring the crap out of said Blutbad.

"Nick!" Monroe startles violently. "A little warning when you decide to come back to the land of the living?"

"M'nroe?" Nick wheezes, squinting up at the Blutbad. "Wh't?" He's cut off by a cough, torn deep from in his lungs. It _hurts_.

Monroe's grimacing at the overpowering smell of pain and sickness rolling off Nick.

Monroe doesn't feel _bad_ for people. Yes, he's a reformed Blutbad, but feeling bad for someone? No. But then there's Nick. Nick carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and gets nothing in return except a good and proper beating far too often for Monroe's liking.

"Let's get you someplace more comfortable," Monroe tells the half conscious Grimm and easily lifts his limp form off the cold tiles. A small moan escapes Nick's lips and his head rolls against Monroe's shoulder but he doesn't protest. That's not a good sign.

Monroe gently settles the Grimm back against the pillows of the makeshift bed the couch has become and watches wearily as Nick fights with his fading consciousness.

A shaking, clammy hand latches onto Monroe's wrist. The grip is feeble, but the emotion radiating from it is not.

Nick is staring up at him through glassy gray eyes.

"J'liette?" It's a plea, and the sound of it tears at something deep inside Monroe's chest. _Jesus, kid._

"She's here. It's… it's okay, Nick." Monroe kneels down beside the couch so that he's level with Nick face.

"I have a feeling this is-," he throws a cautious glance of his shoulder; in the kitchen, he can see Juliette absorbed in fixing a pot of tea, "Creature related."

Nick's brow furrows and for a second he looks so confused it's almost painful.

"Did anything happen today? Run into any unhappy Wesen?" Monroe asks seriously. "Not that any Wesen would be particularly overjoyed about running into to you," he mutters.

A wheeze of laugh escapes Nick's lips and Monroe's shoulders relax. A tiny bit. The look on Nick's face tells him that recalling today's events is taking quite an effort.

"I bumped into a girl… S-spinnetod…" He finally mumbles, "Sh'kinda freaked wh'n she saw 'was a Gr'mm…" Nick tries to form a coherent message, but his eyelids keep sliding shut on him and he's not too sure if Monroe gets what he's saying. He still can't piece together how the Blutbad is actually here.

Then he feels hands on his arms, probing methodically; they move up to his chest, and across his neck. There's a muffled curse, and the sound of it lifts a little warning flag in the back of his mind, barely visible through the thickening fog.

"She got you…" Monroe's voice. He sounds…scared? Nick pries his eyes open. Monroe's face swims out of focus, then sharpens and fades out again. It's nauseating.

"She scratched you, Nick. She poisoned you."

The black veil comes down again.

* * *

Juliette doesn't even try to suppress the soft sob that leaves her lips as she checks the reading on the thermometer. She's long past the control she usually has on her emotions. The weight of their situation is crushing her shoulders; Nick is being torn from her. Again.

The peppermint tea has done nothing to lower Nick's fever; it has climbed to a dangerously high level.

"104.1. How is this possible? He-he was fine today… I-I don't get it."

She's searching Monroe's face, as if the answer is written somewhere in the lines of worry creasing his brow. The Spinnetod Nick supposedly ran into left only a tiny scratch on his neck. Monroe wants to _kill_ her. Anxiety and frustration bubble up in his chest; red invades his vision. He bites down hard on the growl that rumbles in his throat.

"Monroe?"

He snaps back to himself at the sound of Juliette's voice. Her eyes glisten in the soft light from the lamp by the couch as she latches onto his gaze. She looks so desperate, scared, lost. So lost.

The scratch on Nick's neck is small in itself. Invisible. As is the toxin that has slithered into his blood stream is slowly being pumped into his heart.

* * *

Nick's been out for a little over a half hour now and Monroe curls his hands into fists to keep from shifting from foot to foot. He needs to get things from home, but he doesn't want to leave Nick. Anything could happen; the toxin has already largely spread, judging by the high fever. He has Spinnetod antitoxin handy at home. Yes, ever since the Grimm crashed into his neat life of clock fixing and cello playing, he's kept things like this handy.

Reckless, _stupid_ Grimm.

Juliette's sharp gasp shatters the quiet in the room and Monroe's head snaps up, the sound echoing painfully through his brain.

"Monroe? What's wrong with him?" she cries.

Nick's body trembles violently on the couch, shivers coursing down his spine and all the way to his legs. Juliette has his head in her lap, and cups her hands on each side of his neck. Adrenaline shoots like ice through Monroe's veins and for an agonizing second he thinks Nick is having a seizure. Then Nick's hands calm, and the violence of the tremors relents some.

"C-cold…," Nick moans incoherently through chattering teeth and Juliette places a lingering kiss on his burning forehead.

"It's just the fever, go back to sleep," she whispers soothingly. Nick's eyes close again.

Monroe lets out a long breath. He needs to act now.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to get something that will help. Call me if he gets…worse." He's halfway out the door already.

"Wait!" He stops dead in his tracks. "Shouldn't we take him to the hospital?"

The fear in Juliette's voice raises it at least an octave higher and Monroe almost cringes as the sound rings in his ears. Their gazes lock again.

"I know what to do. Trust me."

And he's gone.

* * *

"Nick? Are you with me?"

He's not, really. Wait, with who? That voice… His head pounds. He can feel something slipping in his chest… His rapid heartbeat is slowing. Alarmingly.

"Nick?"

_Juliette._

He opens his eyes and her red hair encompasses his vision. Then he's looking into her eyes, bright and filled with tears. She cards her fingers through his damp hair and he leans into the touch.

"Please, don't leave me…" She whispers, bending over and placing a kiss on his bloodless lips. His pupils are blown wide, the ring of gray around them is barely visible and she's not sure he hears her.

Nick does though.

"I-I love you…" it's weak and raspy, nothing more than an exhausted breath but Juliette hears it and cries harder.

"Don't leave, Nick, please?" she sobs, resting her forehead against his. "Please."

Monroe is back. And then, it's a gradual process into chaos. Nick's barely breathing and Juliette is close to hysterics which is frankly scaring the hell out of Monroe because he's never seen her lose control, _ever. _He doesn't want to give Nick the antidote in front her; she's seen enough.

Getting her out of the room is easier said than done. After a couple minutes of coaxing and some-respectful, manhandling her out of the den, Juliette is upstairs in her and Nick's bedroom with the door firmly shut. Monroe just hopes it will be enough to block out the screams.

He's almost glad Nick is unconscious right now; he's pretty sure the Grimm would have a spectacular freak out at the size of the needle Monroe has to use to administer the antidote.

Nothing happens at first. Then all hell breaks loose.

When it's over, Monroe is sitting on the couch, with his arms wrapped tightly around Nick. One last violent spasm courses through the exhausted young man and he goes boneless in Monroe's iron tight grasp. The Blutbad huffs a deep sigh, and gently releases the now very still Grimm.

* * *

The first thing he registers is the quiet. The calm. He vaguely remembers a suffocating sense of fear around him, chaos and the taste of death. It's all distant now, though; intangible.

He draws in a shaking breath, coughing a little as the air fills his sore lungs. He shifts. Something heavy is pressed down on his left side. And it stirs.

"Nick?" A soft voice whispers. That voice… The voice he's missed, the voice that's left a hole in his life since _it_ happened.

That voice is back, floating gently next to his head. He feels a warm puff of air brush across his ear and soft lips press against his cheek.

"_Nick_?"

He finds it much easier to open his eyes this time. And she's there. Slightly blurred around the edges but _there_.

"Juliette." He breathes. She gently cards her fingers through his hair and for a second he's dizzy, reeling from the fact that she's actually back and the realization of how close he came to losing her. She gives him a small, tired smile.

"How do you feel?"

Good, actually, considering the fleeting memories he has of how he felt before-he doesn't know _when _before was though.

"I had to call Monroe; you were- well, you're okay now. He said it was a 24 hour bug."

The word Spinnetod goes through his mind. This was one too many close calls. Juliette needs to know.

" It was pretty bad though..." She looks pained, her blue eyes clouding over with the vivid images of his pale, trembling form.

He lifts a hand and catches a tear that tracks its way down her cheek.

"Stay." He whispers, chest aching for her.

"I'm here, Nick. I'm not leaving again."

He can't lie to her anymore.

* * *

_The End_


End file.
